From front to back (by Rob Rayder

Running the Different Roads of the Series

By Robert “the Lone Runner” Rayder

16 We don’t get harmony when everybody sings the same note.

Only notes that are different can harmonize. — Steve Goodier I was once asked by one of my non-running friends to explain the appeal of participating in weekend foot races. He was amazed, and more than a little confused, when I told him that I had absolutely no hope or ambition whatsoever to win the race outright. It was a concept that was totally foreign to him.

“You mean there are no winners or losers?” he asked with legitimate wonder.

I smiled. “Of course, there are. My son Christopher is running in the same race and he has a decent shot at the top spot. There are also things called age groups where a runner might place in the top three when compared to others of the same gender and similar age range. However, this particular race is way too popular for me to have a shot at one of those awards.”

My friend made a face of intentionally exaggerated consternation. It made him look like he just swallowed a very bitter pill. “You mean you are going to do this painful thing even though you are absolutely guaranteed to lose?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t consider the concept of not having the fastest time as the definition of “losing,” not in road racing anyway. You can be a winner and still not win the race.”

He laughed in one of those gruff chuckles that showed me he still didn’t get it, but he wasn’t going to push the issue any further. “OK, Confucius. I give up! You keep on running those crazy running things you do. As for me, give me a good old-fashioned baseball game where at least I know what the score is!”

We live in a world where sports are filled either with winners or losers. It is easy to see the draw of high school, college or professional running races, where everyone, in theory anyway, has enough talent to win or at least to place well. People intuitively understand the quest for glory found in absolute victory, the need to pit oneself against another competitor to take a coveted spot on the podium. After all, most of the world’s most popular sports have a clear winner and a clear loser. The motivation is totally obvious. The whole idea is to win. But for the vast majority of foot-race participants, winning is the last thing on their minds. The competitive runners who have completed the requisite training and developed the immense talent necessary to earn a trip to the top of the podium constitute the thinnest slice of the proverbial racing pie. For most runners, the motivations to run are far more personalized and complex.

To convey the reasons that motivate people to run requires an individualized story, and those diverse stories can almost never be boiled down to a quick and easy answer sought by those who ask us “why.”

Instead, when a person answers the question of why he runs, something unique and personal is shared. A runner’s story might paint a picture of an individual journey filled with a thousand small details outlining a path to the starting line. In the process the listener gets to learn something extraordinary about the runner. It is part of the reason I find runners so interesting. No two stories are exactly the same, and each is a tale told in many chapters.

Further, the tenor and tone of those stories change depending on where a runner is in “the pack.” The stories from the front, middle and back of any particular race are very different, although they all share the same passion, sacrifice and dedication no matter what time the clock reads when the finish line is crossed.

My family has been blessed with runners of many different talent levels, and our stories are especially diverse. Despite their obvious differences, the tales still share that common thread familiar to all runners. Some things transcend the simple concept of “speed.” The Front

Chris pored over the list of participants to size up the competition. He knew most of the names of the better local runners by heart, and, of course, was not surprised at all to see many of their names listed there.

17 This was the MRTC Road Race Series after all, and the popularity and sheer size of these races would serve as an irresistible beacon for many of the area’s most talented runners. Chris’ eyes rapidly flickered from one name to the next.

“This guy has had some solid performances,” he would tell me. “But he just hasn’t been running a lot lately.”

Chris’ focus would change to another name. “This guy has been injured for a while. I wonder if he has had time to heal and train?”

Chris finally came across a name he was very familiar with, and it made him take pause. “There he is, the greatest threat in the whole field.” Chris was talking about a former series champion, and a fierce competitor, who has gone toe to toe with my son many times over the years. “I will have to bring my ‘A’ game if I’m going to win this thing.”

Winning that series was Chris’ goal. While he had won a number of individual events in past years, Chris had never taken home the overall series award. This was in part due to the logistics of getting to the start line of at least one of the two races held each month. He needed to be in Memphis for one of the 5Ks, one of the five milers, one of the 10Ks, one of the 10-milers, and, finally, one of the Half Marathons.

This was no easy task to complete while attending a full-time college all the way at the opposite end of the state. Exam schedules, paper due dates, and mandatory study groups would dictate which weekends Chris could come back to Memphis for and which he would have to skip. Other competitors could pick and choose races based on weather conditions or they could potentially re-run a race that they did particularly poorly at two weeks before. Chris would be at a distinct disadvantage.

But he had no other choice, and he was determined to try to win the race series title that had eluded him for so many years.

“Well,” he said, obviously attempting to cover over his growing uncertainty with a halfhearted laugh. “I guess I better get to training.” The Middle

The Series always starts in the dead of summer, just as the heat and humidity levels in Memphis are their most fierce. Summer racing is always challenging, especially for a bigger guy like me. My times universally suffer. Still, I do my best to train for these conditions. If you are a runner in the South in summertime, there is no way to race outdoors and not deal with the unforgiving summer weather.

I looked around and saw many familiar faces in the vast crowd. I had been running in this series for many years, and I’d learned a lot about my fellow runners in that time. We’d all been here before, and it was likely that we would be there in the future, waiting together under the golden rays of the early morning sun. I took a glance at the volunteers staffing the registration, intently studying the mystifying electronics of the start and finish area, filling cups with water, and doing the hundreds of tasks needed to pull off a race of this size. I knew many of them, sometimes by name, and sometimes only by face. Others were strangers to me.

In either case, I felt a genuine debt of gratitude. Every one of these series of races present a virtual mountain of logistical challenges. I’m always amazed at how these selfless heroes manage to pull all that off with such apparent ease race after race after race.